Goodnight
by Key7
Summary: Hard to write a summary for.. it's not your typical mary sue story..... a girl comes to the Brooklyn lodgin house and falls for Spot.. but he never notices her.. until one day.... dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun.. it's NOT what you think!! so READ and REVIEW pleas


Disclaimer: I do not own newsies, and Shasta, and Gambler are their own person so I dont own them!!  
  
Loneliness. I suppose it's something you just think you are. Because if you think about it, you can be sitting with someone you've known your whole entire life and think, "I'm lonely." Because loneliness isn't just about being alone, it's about feeling alone and not really having anyone to pour  
your heart and soul out to or really talk to; to get into a deep conversation about absolutely nothing, and yet, at the moment, you find it the most intriguing thing you have ever heard in your life and god forbid anyone ever pull you from it. And it wouldn't matter what the conversation was about, because that person would mean so much to you, that it wouldn't  
matter to you in the least bit. You'd sit there and listen to them talk about how bad selling was, or how their boyfriend decided to run off with a  
Tibby's waiter. And, that's when you realize, how truly lonely you are.  
  
I suppose life comes with consequences. If you have one thing, you can't have another. That's when the hard end of the deal comes to play. But not for Key Finlay. By god, she's perfect. She's the most beautiful, sparkling  
personality out there on the streets and she captures the attention of  
every single man, woman, child, that ever crosses her path. Especially  
those attentions of Spot Conlon.  
  
Spot and I have lived in the same lodging house for three years together,  
and yet, everytime I even remotely make some sort of a friendly gesture  
towards him, he sees nothing but air and continues walking.  
  
My only friend was Shasta. She lived in the Manhattan lodging house, and continuously off and on dated the leader, Jack Kelly. She was damn near as close to perfect as Key, except I had more respect for the way she carried  
herself. Her red hair was usually worn down, with the occasionally  
upbringing into a sloppy bun. Jack used to refer to her hazel eyes as caramel, but they never were. Her eyes were too sweet to be compared to any candy. Her personality exceeded that of her candy eyes, as she was often referred to as one of the friendliest newsgirls in the lodging house. When She and Jack would have a fight, her bad tempered, feisty side would get the better of her, and I knew to take cover because some object would be flying. She was amazing, and I truly was amazed by her. And yet, extremely  
jealous.  
  
But yet, throughout the day I could never transform into something as  
perfect as Key or as miraculous as Shasta. I remained Sestine, the one  
invisible to all. And I was truly lonely.  
  
+  
  
I suppose it first started when I came to New York. Spot never showed me where to sleep as he did all the other runaways that came. I was helped by non other than Gambler, Racetrack Higgins' girlfriend from birth. She was the first person I ever really met in New York, and she seemed like a real  
person. Not one of those sugary sweet, 'I am so happy we can be best friends' type of girls, but real considerate of things I needed. She wore  
her fiery red curls into two long braids going down her back, and her  
sapphire green eyes sparkled complete with a mischievous grin. She was  
wonderful and I hoped that perhaps we could be better friends.  
  
Then I saw him. Spot had sauntered casually into the room, taken one look at me, and continued walking to the opposite side. He grabbed his cane from the top of the register desk then walked back to the door. He turned around  
and smirked at Gambler. "Race wants to meet ya at Tibby's at twelve."  
  
Gambler rolled her eyes. "I'm slightly busy. Tell the ole goon to hold his  
horses. I'll be there eventually."  
  
I laughed as Spot smirked at Gambler then turned his back and walked out the door. I knew it was him; I needed no formal introductions. I had heard stories about his unusual good looks and his player tendencies. I hadn't a  
shot.  
  
I don't know what made me do it the first time. Perhaps just the overwhelming need to be close to him, to hear his soft breaths, and see the rising and falling of his chest. I leaned over, and memorized every aspect of the boy that I could. The gentle curve of his nose. The slight pout in his lips. The long lashes that protected the most beautiful eyes that no one could ever invent a color for. They were magnificent. I leaned over, so  
close I could feel his breath on my lips, and gently whispered,  
"Goodnight."  
  
It soon became a habit. I waited every day for the night to come. I waited every night for the loneliness to settle in as I made my way to his bunk and leaned down as every night I did and whispered gently, "Goodnight" to  
the angel.  
  
I was lonely. That much I knew. Until the day turned into night, and all the boys and girls would retreat to their bunks from a hard days selling and fall asleep, sometimes not even taking their clothes off. Every night I would watch as Spot made his way to his bunk, hung up his suspenders, his  
shirt, his cane and his hat, and then slip underneath his covers, and  
closed those perfect eyes.  
  
"Goodnight." I would whisper, and then with a sense of contentment, I would claim my space in my bunk and fall asleep, feeling the loneliness lift from  
my shoulders, as the night turned into dawn, and I would once again  
anticipate the coming of night.  
  
+  
  
I suppose he felt sorry for me. Why else would he help me? Everyone else who noticed me daily, knew I often got hassled by the Delancy's, who sensed my loneliness and fed upon that for their own devilish needs. I expected  
it. They never surprised me. They would just come strolling up, looking smug as ever, and grab my papers, throw them every which way and rip them,  
make me eat them, and then go on their leisurely way, as if nothing had  
just happened.  
  
I came to expect them at eight in the morning, or eight-thirty. I could set my watch by it. It came to be a daily routine. No matter where I sold, they would find me, and they would hassle me, until I finally said something. They tended not to like the quiet type when they bug someone. That was the usual response out of me. They never liked it much. To make me speak seemed  
to be their main objective for hassling me in the first place.  
  
I don't know what compelled him to help me. Perhaps from a distance he saw a poor newsgirl being harassed by the Delancy's, everyone's favorite party  
crashers.  
  
I didn't expect it, but from my position on the ground, trying to salvage what was left of my fifty papes, I heard his strong voice, and in a flash  
of red and blue the Delancy's were gone, and I remained on my knees,  
scooping up the papers, my blonde hair falling tangled into my face.  
  
He held out his hand, and I looked up, and for the first time, my gray eyes looked into those eyes that I had come to admire. I looked at his hand, and  
he just smirked, his pouty lips barely forming a smile.  
  
"You aight?" He asked, helping me up from the ground.  
  
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm used to it by now."  
  
"Well ya shouldn't be. A lady should neva' be used ta da Delancy's hangin'  
'round. Stay safe, aight?"  
  
I smiled. "All right, I'll try."  
  
"Well, Good morning, though dat seems kinda ironic ta say afta' what  
happened."  
  
I just smiled, and laughed, and attempted to calm my tangle mane. "Well, I'se'll see ya lata, Sestine. An' take care, aight?" He smiled at me and  
patted me on the back before continuing on his way.  
  
I looked after him, his cane swinging from the sway of his hips. "Good morning, beautiful." I whispered to his back, and then leaned down to pick  
up the rest of my papes. 


End file.
